Yesterday morning, the already cracked and broken mirror on the ancient medicine cabinet above the sink fell on top of my 9 year old son’s head.
Thank goodness he was neither hurt, nor cut. When I think of all the blood, or worse, that could have been if that mirror had fallen at an angle…
Basically what I’m saying is this house is trying to kill us.
(Renovations start in January based on final budgetary calculations.)
I have had no time. I have had no desire to do anything other than feel sorry for myself. I don’t bother cleaning anymore either unless it’s a quick wipe-up or vacuum just to keep my sanity intact a tad longer, but really, the motivation about this house has left me ages ago. And after interviewing and paying for and looking at designs by two architects we finally have made a decision and I think things are going to start rolling.
Right when the snow starts falling.
Right when the regular hockey season is doubling up with both practices and games.
Right when his work is more stressful and occupying than before.
Right before Christmas.
Whatever. Frankly, moving out of here can’t come soon enough. Which just adds another slog of things to the list: get a POD moving storage bin thingy delivered onto the driveway and fill it with essential items (about 25% of what is in this house, the rest….get out of my way while I purge, people, or ELSE…) and look for an apartment to stay in for three months.
Well, then again, maybe we’ll just pitch at tent at the rink…since we hardly ever seem to be anyplace else these days. :)